


Bad Days, Good Nights

by KatlynneLyons



Series: The Rise and the Fall [1]
Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Prequel, Raph is trying his best, References to Depression, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Siblings, Turtle Tots (TMNT), and makes poor choices, splinter has depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatlynneLyons/pseuds/KatlynneLyons
Summary: It was hard being the biggest, the eldest, the one in charge. The one they looked to for answers and help. It was tough when dad could barely manage to do more than stare with a glazed look in his eyes past them, leaving it all to Red to handle.But Raph managed it.He did it so the three little ones wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t be hungry or worried. He was there to take care of it all, the food, the care, the support. He would cuddle them late at night, bandage skinned knees, tuck three little turtles into bed- whatever it took to get them to be happy.And maybe he did it for the good days too.When Dad would get up early before they all did, settling himself in the kitchen to make them all breakfast; coddling and hugging them all one by one as they woke up. When he would make them all tea and whatever he could throw together from the scavenged remains in tall cupboards. The rat man handing them all their plates, jovial as always, only pausing to rub the top of Raph’s head speaking quietly, “Good job Red.”Maybe it was for that too.
Series: The Rise and the Fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170725
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	Bad Days, Good Nights

Ever since forever, as long as he could remember in that fuzzy abyss of memories, Dad had his cycles.

There were his good days: long and stretching out in weeks or months of great moods and attentiveness to four rowdy children. Ones where he was there for them, always listening or helping or training them. Patching hurt knees with bandaids and fuzzy kisses, making them food from the scraps he had scraped together from trips out dumpster diving at the grocery stores- or more rarely, the local pizza chains that tossed out botched batches at the end of the night. 

Dad was there during those days, present and loving- like the dads they saw on those movies and shows they’d get to watch in the evening after dinner.

And then there were the bad days. 

One or two in a row, sometimes more, lengthening into a worrying fog. Ones where dad would sit in that chair, movies and old TV shows playing for hours on end, only the briefest of acknowledgements coming from the rat man as he watched the screen and laughed. All he would do was sit there, eating, staring blankly through the non-stop shows, only able to give the barest of responses- ‘yes’ ‘no’ ‘not right now’ ‘later’ ‘ask Red to do it.’

Those were the days when Raph had to step up. 

Where he would be the one chasing after toddler Mikey-  _ c’mon go make dad a card, I’m sure he’ll love that, yeah with glitter too, yeah I’ll sign it, so will the twins _ -, pulling Donnie away from the screen to eat some breakfast-  _ it’s two in the afternoon, c’mon you gotta eat something- _ convincing Leo to wait for the evening to pull out his biggest prank yet- _ no cool front flips either! Dad said not without him making sure we don’t hurt ourselves- _

It was tough, being barely eight and taking care of three baby brothers- scrounging for leftovers he could pop into the microwave, getting them washed up, letting them pick stories for the nights when the TV buzzed with static off in the distance of the lair. 

It was hard being the biggest, the eldest, the one in charge. The one they looked to for answers and help. It was tough when dad could barely manage to do more than stare with a glazed look in his eyes past them, leaving it all to Red to handle.

But Raph managed it.

He did it so the three little ones wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t be hungry or worried. He was there to take care of it all, the food, the care, the support. He would cuddle them late at night, bandage skinned knees, tuck three little turtles into bed- whatever it took to get them to be happy.

And maybe he did it for the good days too.

When Dad would get up early before they all did, settling himself in the kitchen to make them all breakfast; coddling and hugging them all one by one as they woke up. When he would make them all tea and whatever he could throw together from the scavenged remains in tall cupboards. The rat man handing them all their plates, jovial as always, only pausing to rub the top of Raph’s head speaking quietly, “Good job Red.”

Maybe it was for that too.

The most recent cycle is longer than normal. The first two days pass as normal, then a third and a fourth- and the other three turtles are worried. Concerned. Sitting on that wire edge of desperation and innocent hope of finally just breaking and harassing their father until either he snaps back to normal or just reacts more than shushing them and sending them off into the lair.

Raph knows pushing their dad won’t help. He has to take care of this. He has to care of them- put on that brave face, corral them to their private space of the lair, distract them, help them. Doing whatever he can to keep them happy and relaxed until Dad comes back to them. 

The red turtle gets them all sorted out, sets them up with snacks and games and approved activities- things Dad said were ok to do on their own. 

But it’s getting hard. It’s really,  _ really  _ hard without Dad there to tell him what to do, to tell him how to handle three younger children when food’s running low and their dad’s struggling to stay awake for more than an hour in front of the never ending TV.

He pushes on despite it all, through the ninth day; trying to keep everything light even as a coldness, a tight worry settles deep under his shell, right above his grumbling stomach. That day he preps instant noodles, careful on the stool that creaks beneath his weight, tentative with the pot as he pours the contents out into four similar bowls. He hands them out for dinner to frowning faces.

They’re all quieter than normal, eyes glancing too often down the hallway, tiny fists balled around the handles of utensils. Shoulders tense, with heads bowed in thought- wrong. It feels wrong to see them like this instead of their normal cheery demeanor. 

“Alright- here’s dinner- just some soup tonight- y’know like Lou Jitsu eats,” the snapper says, sitting at his place at the tall table, forcing a grin across his face as he picks up his own spoon. “Better eat it while it’s still hot.”

“Is dad gonna come out?” Leo says, voice quiet compared to his normal bluster. His gaze darts to the hall then back to his own bowl. 

“Of course he is Leo- maybe not tonight, but y’know how dad gets-” Raph says trying to lighten the mood, to reassure all of them, maybe even reassure himself.  “-he has his days like this, then BOOM- he’s as good as new!”

“I don’t think this is normal- dad’s don’t act like this normally- right?” Donnie mutters, swirling noodles with a fork, his lips curved downwards.

“Oh come on Donnie, Dad’s on TV don’t act like that- but this isn’t TV!” the snapper shoots back,  “You’re always correcting the shows for messing things up- so maybe this is one of those things!” 

“Yeah maybe..” the soft-shell turtle mumbles pensively, grimace only deepening as he pushes glasses further up on his face.

“Yeah of course, you mean,” Raph corrects, before shifting his attention,  “Mikey- ain’t you gonna eat your dinner? It’ll get cold and no one likes cold noodles,” he says wrinkling his snout in mock disgust.

“I’m not hungry.” the orange turtle says, pouting as he swirls his fork from one side of the bowl to the other. “Not for noodles.”

“Mikey you gotta eat something buddy, and this is what we got-”

“-Can dad get us some pizza?” the other blurts out, big watery eyes jerking up to Raph’s, lip quivering as he swallowed audibly. “I want pizza.”

Raph feels something in his neck shudder, the twins looking to him, to their big brother for an answer and there something there, weighing heavy down on him, crushing his shell under the pressure and it takes all he has to choke out a whispered, “Not… Not right now Mikey.”

“Oh.” the box turtle sighs, head sinking a bit back into his shell.  “How about tomorrow?”

“I don’t know Mikey. Maybe if he’s feeling up to it?” Raph replies, tongue feeling thick and heavy.

“He’s gonna be ok soon? Right Raph?” Leo pipes up next, still staring at his older brother, the green of his face a tad ashy.

“Yeah- yeah of course he will little buddy-” he says, trying to sound certain, like he believes it himself,  “He’s gotten better every other time before.” 

Three turtles glance up, disbelieving eyes meeting his more confident ones. They stare at each other, but within a few tense seconds they all seem to note Raphs’s puffed out chest, his energetic posing at the head of the table, his entire expression bleeding certainty, and one by one they relax, growing calmer as they set into dinner with more enthusiasm.

“He has to get better.” Raph says, adding a bit more mirth than normal, “He just has to.” 

* * *

After dinner, it’s time to herd them all towards the makeshift bathroom, wrangling his brothers into some form of routine- lining up three tots to brush their teeth, washing their hands despite protests from a fastidious Donnie, personally helping a squirming Mikey into pajamas while the other two poke fun at the struggle. They get loud, boisterous, and it feels like things are back to normal.

After cleaning up, it’s off to all of their private rooms- one by one the eldest tucks in three smaller turtles, making sure they’re all set to sleep. He turns off Donnie’s projects that the little twerp tried sneaking in, sets aside Leo’s skateboard away from the edge of the bed so he won’t hurt himself in the morning, pushes all of Mikey’s things into a more manageable pile of chaos- pats heads and reads stories until they’re dozing. Finally Raph makes his rounds through the lair, stopping to turn off the lights and projector in the living room. 

He ignores Dad’s passed out form curled in the armchair. 

Raph heads to bed himself, stretching out his arms over his head as he pads down the hallways to his room. Exhaustion weighs him down, makes him slow and sluggish and the red turtle is ready for a long night’s rest. Ready for some time to sleep, and relax for just a bit.

He flops into his bed with a heavy sound, the bed frame creaking suspiciously underneath him from the weight. The second his head hits his pillows, he can feel the creeping blackness edging up over his thoughts, dragging him down and down, swallowing his awareness for who knows how long before-

“Raph?” 

“Hnnn-” the snapper groans, rolling over in his bed- pillow forced over his own head to drown out whatever was trying to steal his precious sleep away.

“Raph- wake up-” a soft voice prods and this time he’s more aware, wakefulness coming slowly back to him. His head lifts up from the cocoon he had made and he blinks in confusion in the dim light, the static of the dark fading away to reveal two turtles peeking in- the shorter soft-shell clutching to the slider’s nightgown.

“Leo? Donnie?” Raph grumbles, rubbing at his own eyes.

“What’s wrong? It’s like- really late guys- we went to bed ages ago-”

The two press back, the purple turtle shrinking behind Leo as the slider pipes up, “It’s Donnie! He wanted to come here!”

His attention shifts to the smaller turtle who seems to have decided examining the floor is the best course of action, the hands holding Leo’s pajamas clenched tight in a death grip.

“Donnie? What happened?”

No response.

“Donnie?” Raph presses again, sitting up straighter, forcing blankets to release him. 

“I had a bad dream…” he starts voice trembling,  “I know that they’re just figments of my overactive brain but this one felt so REAL- I woke up all alone, and I couldn’t find anyone! All of you were gone and I kept calling and calling! And it was getting dark, and no one was there in the lair or- or ANYWHERE- And there was this buzzing like static-”

“Shhh- it was a dream Donnie. Just a bad dream.” Raph whispers, trying really hard to sound like those adults in the movies. His bed creaks in protest as he gets off of it. 

“B-but-” the smart turtle blubbers, voice too wet, hands balled into tiny fists wrapped in blue fabric.

“It's ok… See I’m here. Right here. And nuth’in is going to keep me from being here,” he says, pulling the little tot into his arms. He carries him back to his oversized bed, leaning back so he doesn’t crush the delicate turtle.  “Good ol’ Raph is here, looking out for you.”

Donnie doesn’t verbally respond, burying his face into the red fabric of his larger brother’s pajamas, arms wrapped around his neck and squeezing in a tight hug that would have made anyone else gasp for air. Raph responds in turn, hugging him back, using the firm pressure he knew the smaller likes- not too much, not too little, but just right. 

“Can I-” the little slider asks, butting into the moment with a tentative whisper- still in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes big and pleading as he wrings out the bottom of his shirt.

“Yeah Nardo- you can come up too,” Raph says, voice gentle. 

Leo doesn’t verbally respond, pulling himself up into his older brother’s bed, piling on top of the snapper’s chest, squeezing next Donnie- the soft-shell mutters something unintelligible and shifts to get more comfortable, grip kept tight around Raph’s neck.

Raph has to readjust, arms wrapping around the two of them, settling back so all three of them are comfortable. But soon they all relax, Donnie releasing his death grip, Leo quietly snoring. The oldest is dozing himself when from the doorway-

“Raph?” Mikey says, voice high pitched and hopeful.

Why wasn’t Raph surprised? 

“Yeah Mikey?” he asks, still half asleep, eyes cracking open to peer down at his smallest brother.

“I wanna sleep here! It’s too dark in my room!” the box turtle pipes up, bouncing on his toes.

“Didn’t we just get you the nightlight? The one with the stars and planets?” Raph mumbles, head resting on his shoulder, " I thought it was working great even after its time in the dumpster.” 

“It- it’s not working!”

He’s lying.

“Oh? How bout I fix it Mikey-” he says, voice prodding too close to joking. “I can get up and do that real quick-”

“No!” the orange turtle shouts, voice shrill making the other two stir.

“Mikey-” Raph groans half-heartedly.

“I wanna join the slumber party!” The toddler huffs, arms crossing as he stomps his foot,  “It’s like the ones we see on the TV’s! And it’s so lonely in my room!” 

He could turn him away, send him back to his own room to sleep. But there are huge pleading eyes staring at him, hands clasped in front of a baggy t-shirt. And Raph was always weak when it came to his baby brothers. 

“Fine Mikey- come on up- plenty of room-” he finally relents, scooting to the side of his bed, bringing half asleep turtles with him.

“Mmm- you’re so big I doubt it-” Donnie mumbles half asleep.

“Shush- MIkey’s so small a little more space being taken up won’t change much.” he chides, bouncing the soft shell turtle on his hip. 

“Yay-” and the toddler clambers up surprisingly quickly, already joining the growing pile of turtles, pressing up next to Raph’s side besides Leo, his yawn stretching his face into two. They all adjust, moving and shifting until they’re a comfortable pile of entangled limbs- Mikey’s louder snores filling the air, Donnie limp on Raph’s chest with drool pooling in the cracks of his shell.

Once again the snapper is dozing, nearly asleep when it’s broken by one of his brothers-

“Raph? Can we do this again?” Leo asks, voice soft, thoughtful- hopeful.

“Yeah lil’ bro.” Raph mumbles, half asleep, eyes still closed.

“Whenever you guys feel like it. Raph’s always here for you little guys.”

“Awesome.” a half hug tightens around his center, barely noticeable due to the thickness of his impressive shell. 

“Night Raph.”

“Night Nardo.” he murmurs.

“Now go to sleep.”

“Kay.” he mumbles back, snuggling into Raph’s chest.

They spend the night asleep in the giant pile- bed creaking with every breath of the largest turtle, snores and breathing all falling into synch. It was cozy, warm, comfortable. One of the best rests they had gotten for the entirety of the past week.

It’s a good night.

* * *

The next morning they woke up to the scent of pancakes wafting through the air, the faint sounds of opera and metal on metal coming from the direction of the kitchen. At first none of them know what to do, sleepy turtles slow to process what that meant. But when it hits them, it’s all at once- three turtles scramble up, kicking Raph roughly in the legs and chest as Mikey shouts, “Dad’s up! Dad’s up Dad’s **up**!”

The twins help the little orange turtle off the bed and soon four turtles are sliding around corners, nearly hitting the opposite walls in their haste to get to the kitchen, the warm scent of butter and syrup in the air- the sound of their dad’s singing shifting to humming as they drew closer and closer, finally rounding that final corner.

Leo and Mikey slam into their father’s waist first, the taller exclaiming loudly, “Dad! You’re up!” Donnie is more tentative, hands rolling his night shirt as he peers up with squinted eyes, glasses forgotten in his haste to reach the kitchen, and Raph hangs back, arms crossed, the biggest ‘I told you so’ grin plastered across his face. 

“Boys- boys- enough- enough-” Their dad laughs, pushing them off, a pink hand pressing firmly into the top of their heads.  “There is plenty of time for hugs AFTER breakfast. Now go- go sit-”

It takes convincing for the clinging turtles to release the rat-man, but when they do they are nearly vibrating energy- Mikey bouncing in his seat, fist around his fork banging into the table with audible thuds. Leo is no better, rocking back and forth with a grin nearly splitting his face into two.

“Purple- here-” their father spoke up, offering out familiar square shapes to the shyer of the siblings,  “Your extra set.”

Donnie takes it, heading off to his place, and Raph catches the small smile that graces the little turtle’s face as he puts on the glasses, pushing them up on his snout. 

Raph takes his own place, sitting taller as he grins wide himself. Dad was back- this was great, amazing, perfect. Now everything could go back to normal.

“Who wants pancakes?” The rat man cheerily chimes, tail flicking a cooking tool at sizzling pans, pancakes flipping up and over, looking absolutely perfect.

A chorus of ‘ _me’s'_ filled the air, followed by laughter and jokes- life filling up the room all in one burst of action. Cheering and shows of joy as plates are handed out one by one-

Raph receives the last plate, and as the rat man leans over the red turtle, he whispers,  “Good job looking after them, Red. I’m so proud of you, my son.”

Raph smiles down into his pancakes, legs kicking out under the table. 

His brothers were happy. 

Dad was proud.

It was all worth it for that.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to be clear, I feel that Splinter's actions during the show, especially the first season, were extremely concerning. It is not normal for someone to sit for 24 hours a day watching TV, sleeping and eating- not looking after their 15-13 year old children to the point they have no idea what the teenagers are doing at any given moment. What's even more concerning is the reactions the turtles had to his behavior- none. 
> 
> This was normal to them. 
> 
> This was their normal. A detached father, fending for meals on their own- only bonding through watching movies with Splinter, and so devoid from affection they were willing to go through an awful night for a hug. Just a hug- in which they admitted they didn't know what it would feel like. These teenagers had not had open affection, emotional support or physical support in quite a long time. Long enough for it to become their normal.
> 
> Do I blame Splinter? No. Considering everything he has been through, and the lack of access he has to help to assist with his clear signs of depression and probable PTSD, I am not surprised that he spiraled out of control into the man we see on the show. If anything I feel bad for him. Him and his four children that had to watch their father drift away until those 'Bad days' became every day.
> 
> Until they became normal.


End file.
